


Throwing Punches

by heavymetalbarnes



Category: Avenged Sevenfold, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: MMA fight, Markiplier - Freeform, Other, avenged sevenfold - Freeform, i'm surprised i made him lose, m.shadows - Freeform, you'll have to read on to see who's him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:06:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavymetalbarnes/pseuds/heavymetalbarnes
Summary: An all-or-nothing fight between two unlikely fighters.Place your bets, take a seat, and witness a fight of the century.





	Throwing Punches

**Author's Note:**

> Never thought I'd see the day where YouTubers and metal singers collide  
> but here we are!

There was blood, both fresh and drying, staining both opponents’ faces. Their mouth guards were glistening with tinted saliva slowly rolling down their chins and the plastic shielding their teeth. The blinding lights of the area perfectly highlighted the forming bumps and bruises both panting, hunched men were going to be adorned with for the weeks to come. Black tie announcers were pushing their voices to their limits, rasping out what little energy their throats had left for the night. 

“Matthew’s going in for another swing- OH! And Mark ducks before there’s any contact! Mark’s taking his chance and going for a high kick for this one!” The announcers were electric, their voices finding a sudden second wind. Matthew half blocked, half took the kick his red gloved opponent delivered, grunting at the hard contact it gave. He had to give it to the kid, though. 10 minutes into the fight and he was shedding blood like a dog shedding fur on a couch, his short hair tousled around his head, and bloodied saliva glossing his lips rapidly. He was a mess, but a determined one at that. Matt looked no better either, with a darkening ring forming gradually around his right eye and a crimson dripping nose. But looks didn’t matter in this ring. Your hits and kicks mattered more than anything. That was how you determined that you were the best.

Mark’s head was tilted back harshly from the impact of Matt’s punch, resulting in a new wave of blood to seep out from his, now re-opened, cut on his cheek. He shook his head in an attempt to brush off the daze and swung at Matt. The deafening crowd was split down the middle with one side gasping and awe-ing in disappointment when the punch missed Matt and went over his shoulder. With a quick duck, Matt buried his head in Mark’s stomach and wrapped an arm around his waist. He felt Mark’s stomach cave in from the air being forced out of him after his back collided with the metal chain link fencing, on top of the force of Matthew’s weight being pushed onto his abdomen.

“Matthew’s got Mark in a hold against the fence! This could be the the first move for a victory for him, ladies and gentlemen, let’s see what he’ll do next!” The announcers’ riled up the audience and the fighters, the tension building to skyscraper heights. Mark, grunting and panting against the barrier, tried to push Matt off of him while slamming down hits on his bare back. Fingers dug into Mark’s side, while Matt’s feet started to give from under him and slide back. 

There were gasps and roars of encouragement for both males as they found themselves on the floor. “This is it, folks, whoever gets pinned is the loser of this fight! It’s a tough call, but it seems as though- OH MY GOD! In a sudden turn of events, Mark is now holding Matthew down on the mat!” 

What? How the hell did this happen?

Matthew had him, he was the one looking at the squirming man on the ground surrounded by bright sponsor logos on the white padding. Now, he was looking up at the metal crossing ceiling and Mark on top of him, hair flailing over his face as they tussled on the ground. His back hurt laying on the mat, both from the hits he’d taken and his pride that shattered on the floor. 

“This is it, everybody! He’s got ten seconds to get up off that mat or tap out!” 

Tap out? Off the mat? These words weren’t a foreign language to Matt, since they’d been told to his past opponents. But to hear them be said to him was like a metaphorical, and quite literal, punch in the gut.

He tried to flip themselves over, but to no avail. Mark had found an inner strength and was using it to his advantage. He held one of Matt’s legs and pushed it towards his chest, while his free hand held him down by the shoulder.

His muscles were burning, his face felt stiff and hot. Matthew grunted and sighed, panting heavily and chest hollow as he did the unthinkable to himself and his fans.

He tapped out.

The weak slams on the mat mimicked how his heart was beating in his chest as he heard the announcers scream for paid joy at the newest winner of the championship, a Mark Fischbach that was proudly parading around the ring with gloved hands raised in the air.

Matt rested there for a moment and sighed. 

After being the best for so long, he realized what it felt like to be the worst.


End file.
